Dead Flowers
by SteneMichele
Summary: Rosalie was ruined. Rosalie was attacked, and destroyed in the middle of a barren street. But she is different now. Rosalie is a vampire, and it is her turn to bring fear to the eyes of her attackers. Yes, revenge is sweet.
1. Caleb St Laurent

It was dark outside and the streetlights emanated an eerie glow over the cobblestone street. This was convenient; it would add to the terror that I was supplying this evening. Yes, the terror would be magnificent... I had dreamed of this for years! To see the hair on the back of their necks stand up! To hear their screams of dread! Oh, it would be heaven. _Sweet revenge._

He came at a quarter past eight. I had sent him a letter under the name of his high school sweetheart, begging him to meet me under the lamppost. He was the first one. His name was Caleb St. Laurent, and his voice, amongst others, had haunted me for the past two years. I remembered the way his storm cloud eyes had filled with greed as he fought over me. His face had contorted into a sickly grin, colder than the snowy ground that I had been attacked on.

As he turned the corner, he looked gleeful. To my intense amusement, he had a red rose in his hand. What a foolish man.

I stalled, letting him grow anxious. He grew antsy as I watched from the thorn bushes, constantly checking the letter that I had sent him to double check that he had the right time. Quickly, I fixed my hair and applied a fresh coat of lipstick. It was time.

"Is that for me?" I asked innocently, gesturing towards the rose. Caleb spun around, a smile of relief on his face. He recognized me at once, and his grin faded as if somebody had shot him. His eyes narrowed as if he was doubting what he was seeing. The red rose fell to the ground, landing in the soft white snow.

"No," he whispered, his voice rich with fear, "It's not you..." I let out a menacing laugh, causing the immense man to grab the lamppost for support.

"It is me," I corrected him, before closing the space between us in one stride. He froze, taken aback by my inhuman speed.

"How did you..." he stammered, his voice heavy with alcohol. This upset me. The smell of it, the heavy liquor in his voice, sent flutters and flashbacks flying through my mind, making me want to scream. _No, _I reminded myself, _This is their night to be afraid._

"Still on the booze, then?" I cooed, blowing an icy gust of air into his ear, "I thought we had learned..." Caleb had started to tremble violently, and beads of sweat were forming on his neck despite the chill of the night.

"I didn't- I don't want trouble," he grumbled, holding his hands up in a sign of surrender. My anger got the best of me, and I slapped him with as much force as I could muster. To my intense pleasure, he fell to the ground, clutching his face in agony. I had broken his jaw. _Damn_. He probably couldn't scream now.

"I'll do the talking," I snapped, crouching down and kneeling over him. He widened his gray eyes, his jaw trembling violently. "I know what you're thinking," I whispered, stroking his broken jaw, "You think I'm a madwoman. You think that I'm going to kill you. Well, let me tell you something- You're right for that second one. I _will _kill you and I hope that you're conscious for every minute of it. You thought that you were so strong, ganging up on me 5 against one. Why didn't you ever attack me alone? You needed your cronies there to back you up? You, Caleb St. Laurent, are a coward. I will kill you, along with the others, one by one. Does that make you feel good?" Caleb was at a loss for words. He was not proving to be much fun, so I decided to speed things up a little. I took advantage of the few fighting skills that Emmett had taught me, not that I _needed _any advantage. I dug my two-inch nails into the pressure points on his neck, watching with joy as the life vanished from his eyes. He barely had time for one short gasp before he was dead. _One down, four to go._


	2. John Adams Shea

John Adams Shea. A 1920's socialite, husband of one, lover of many. He was arrogant and pig-headed, and I was looking forward to this one more than all of the others, except for the killing of the devil himself. John would fight until the end, giving me more time to toy with his fear.

He had heard of the death of Caleb St. Laurent, naturally, but he was a Georgia peach farmer, and he had not known any of the others except for Royce. I had taken the name of one of his lovers, a flapper, and was meeting him in D.C. for the weekend.

I was getting ready, wearing a sequined dress and costume make-up, of course, when Edward came walking in to my room. He had a hesitant look on his face, his eyes tentative. I ignored him for several minutes, applying rouge to my icy cheeks. After a while, I heard him quietly clear his throat.

"What?" I demanded, swiveling around on my vanity chair. Edward seemed pleased to finally have my attention.

"Rose, is this fair?" he murmured warily, his eyes skimming the sequins that covered my body. "After all, they have families." I blinked in shock. Was he siding with _them_? They had left me on the snowy streets to die! They had torn me up and _destroyed _me! My whole life... I had a whole life ahead of me.

"Damn it, Edward," I groaned. "You are such an asshole. _I _had a family, too! My mother and father- they loved- they were _proud _of me." I rethought over what I had said. Had my parents loved me? They had been pleased with me, and they had brought me with them everywhere. I was their trophy, their crowning glory. _But had they loved me? _I brushed the thought away. After all, none of that mattered anymore. That was a different life, a different Rosalie Hale.

"All that I am saying, Rosalie," Edward persisted, pulling me out of my reverie, "Is that you should rethink this. You're a smart girl. Is this justice, or revenge?" I stood up, sending my swivel stool flying towards the wall.

"It's revenge!" I shrieked mirthlessly. "It's revenge, God damn it. Don't I know that? I'm not like you- I don't think as rationally as you do!" It was the first time I had ever complimented him, but I hadn't meant for it to be a compliment. What was the point of being rational if you had been hurt? Edward shook his head sadly.

"Rosalie, why don't you try thinking with your head instead of your heart for once?" he muttered. I scoffed.

"That's easy for you to say!" I hissed. "You don't _have _a heart!" For a moment, I basked in the glory of my insult. Edward was such a jackass. He didn't like me, and I didn't like him. We both knew what Carlisle _wanted_, but he was dreaming if he thought that things would ever work out like that. The only reason that I even stayed with the Cullens was out of gratitude for Carlisle, and admiration for Esme. We were similar, in some ways, at least. We both wanted children, and we had both despised our human lives.

"I've stood aside," Edward began solemnly. "I've let you do this, because I know that you won't be content until you do. You're only two years old, in a supernatural sense, and I don't know if you fully understand the consequences of everything that you do." I rolled my beautiful golden eyes, not comprehending a word that he said.

"What don't I understand?" I demanded, impatiently. I heard Edward heave a sigh as I leaned down to apply extra mascara. The make-up was just for show; I was gorgeous without it.

"Whatever you do know, Rosalie," Edward explained, "It will be with you for eternity. We don't _die._" How well I knew that. Why did he feel the need to remind me of this? _How God damn well I knew we couldn't die. _

Two hours, 34 minutes and 17 seconds later, John Adams Shea lay dead on the marble floor in front of the Lincoln Memorial. _Revenge keeps getting sweeter._


	3. Charles van Whelan

Just as I was leaving for Poughkeepsie Saturday night, I recognized an eerie light emanating from the parlor. It was probably Edward; Carlisle and Esme were always quite "busy" during the dark hours of the night. I rolled my eyes and pulled my jacket tighter around my chest. It was a beautiful ivory jacket with a couple of brass buttons still in place. There was gold trim around the collar, and ruffled sleeves. It had been my favorite when I was human, but until five minutes ago, I had kept it locked inside a trunk with the few human possessions that had been salvaged from my parent's house. The reason that I had not looked at this coat in two years was chiefly due to the fact that there was blood splattered capriciously across the soft fabric.

"Rosalie," a placid voice called from the next room over. I jumped; it was not Edward's voice that had spoken my name, but Esme's. Esme had been nothing but wonderful to me since I had become a member of the Cullen family. While Edward made no attempt to masquerade his dislike for me, Esme had always stood loyally by my side.

I walked warily into the parlor, trying not to let my bitter mood vanish completely as I saw Esme's sweet face. She was sitting on the couch with her legs crossed.

"What?" I muttered, finding a middle ground between patronizing and polite. Esme smiled, gesturing towards the arm chair across from her.

"Take a seat, darling," she said sweetly, "We need to talk." _Damn. _I had no problem calling Edward a jackass but nobody with the slightest trace of a heart would ever tell _Esme_ off.

"I don't need to sit," I retorted shortly, my hands balled up into fists at my sides. Esme let out a tinkling laugh.

"Of course you don't," she agreed, standing up, "Neither do I. Sometimes I get so caught up in this façade that we have here that I don't know where our staged world ends and our real one begins." I nodded slowly, unsure of where she was going with this.

"I really have to go," I murmured regretfully, taking a step backwards. Esme reached out and grabbed my hand before I could pull away.

"But that's what I have to talk about, Rose," she whispered, her topaz eyes boring into mine, "You're not a monster. You can't let them have this kind of an effect on you. Don't sink down to their level, darling." I grimaced, pulling my hand out of her grasp. She could have easily held on, but she let me free, a heartbreaking look on her lovable face.

"You- you don't understand," I blurted out, tracing the intricate patterns of blood on my jacket. Esme's eyes followed my gaze to the dark red stains, gulping.

"That's where you're wrong, Rosalie," she corrected me, "I understand more than anyone. You know _my _story, Rose. I ran away before my husband's abuse could have any permanent effect on me. You didn't find out in time, sweetie, but we're in the same boat here. Never forget that." I ran my hand through my golden locks, sighing exasperatedly. Why couldn't they just let me do what had to be done? I would not be content until those men were dead, and nothing that my new family alleged was making me reassess anything. If anything, it was just making it take longer.

"Look, I've heard it all," I snapped, staring at the ceiling, "Edward never hid what he thought, and I- I hate to hurt you Esme. I know you don't like to see me do this. I'm not arrogant enough to be completely oblivious to everyone else's views on this. But I have to… You know how that feels, don't you? When you just _have _to do something…" I let my voice trail off, shuddering dramatically. Esme closed her eyes and nodded slowly, her mouth contorted into a grimace of a thousand words left unsaid.

Silently, I turned around and sauntered through the doorway, hesitating on the threshold. Normally I was not one for hesitating. I was more of a no-second-thoughts kind of girl. But it was two whole seconds, an eternity in immortal time, before I got my feet moving again.

Charles van Whelan was a dumpy man with a heavy Russian accent. His voice was so distinct in my memory…heavy with whiskey as he called out my name. He was leaning against the brick wall of a pub in a clear attempt at nonchalance, his hat strategically dipped below one eye. The sight of him standing there sent shivers down my spine, but they were certainly not shivers of fear.

"'Ow you doin', bootiful?" he muttered, not entirely looking at me. His English had not improved one bit. I pulled my blood-stained jacket tighter around me, bending my legs a bit to allow him a look at my face. This pleased me; his glazed eyes lit up with comprehension first, and fear second. I felt his bewildered gaze on the crimson stains on my jacket, and this pleased me. The jacket had been part of the arrangement.

After a quick glance around to make sure that nobody was around, I closed my fist around the brim of his hat and whipped it off of his head, a playful smile dancing across my face. He froze, his cigar dropping out of his gaping mouth onto the frigid cement below us.

"Now, Rosanna," he murmured drunkenly. My instincts got the best of me, and I reached out to slap him.

"Don't you _dare _attempt to speak my name, you foul bastard," I hissed, the acid in my voice frightening me a bit. Charles cast me a sick look, making an ungainly attempt to duck below my arm. My hand clenched vice-like around his elbow, snapping the bone in half effortlessly. He let out a nauseating shout, collapsing to the ground in agony. I could hear the blood rushing to the new injury, yet I had not broken the skin. Good.

"You're a- a mad wooman…" he groaned in pain, clutched his arm. He made a sick attempt at a cry for help, forcing me to come down hard on his neck.

"Keep screaming, jackass," I snapped. "It won't change anything. You're going to die tonight… _And you know it." _


	4. Harvey Blake

Just as the clock rang twelve, announcing midnight, Harvey Blake arrived in the courtyard. Unlike the other men, he appeared entirely presentable. His hands were in his pea coat pocket and his light hair was neatly combed back. He would have been handsome, too, had I not known what he was capable of.

"Good evening, ma'am," he called, bowing his head politely. I pulled my silken scarf tighter around my face, not ready to give up my true identity yet. I was going to have some fun with this one.

"Good evening, sir," I replied routinely, throwing in a modest curtsy for effect. Harvey stopped when he was a couple of feet from me, wary of frightening me.

"My name is Dr. Blake," he informed me, his voice gentle and caring. "I got a call from a Dr. Cullen that you are suffering from a chronic illness. I understand why you wanted to meet secretly at night, but there is honestly no shame in illness, Miss…" He let his voice trail off, clearly an indicator for me to introduce myself. Slowly and dramatically, I turned around. My sunglasses would mask me for a few minutes longer, but it was only a matter of time before he figured out who I was.

"Hale," I finished for him. "Rosalie Hale." Harvey took out a clipboard, furrowing his brow as he read something. My name had not sparked any memories, but I had not expected anything more; he had been drunk beyond comprehension that night. In fact, it was difficult to even connect the men based on who they were and who they _had been. _

"Yes, Miss Hale," Harvey muttered absent-mindedly. "As I was saying, I have a practice over on 4th Street. I would be pleased to make an appointment with your during daylight hours. Now, I have an 11:30 next Thursday, but if that is not agreeable with you then I have a 4:10 two weeks after that Friday. If your symptoms are more dramatic, however, I do have another practice for emerg-"

"What if I don't _have _any symptoms?" I interrupted, making sure that my voice sounded perfectly innocent. Harvey froze, glancing up from his clipboard.

"I'm afraid that I don't understand," he replied, furrowing his brow. I closed the space between us in two steps, staring up at his face.

"I think you do understand," I corrected him, placing my index finger on the tip of his nose. Harvey went cross-eyed trying to look at it, but he did not yet realize what I was. I let out an exasperated sigh; for a doctor, this man was extremely dim-witted. With a dramatic flourish, I removed my sunglasses from my face. Harvey went rigid, his eyes lighting up with comprehension. I could almost see the gears turning in his brain as he thought of the next thing to say.

"Ah," he breathed, closing his eyes. "Why, of course I remember you. You're Mr. King's beautiful wife. And you look stunning, might I add. Tell me, how is Royce?" I let out a high-pitched laugh, grabbing the man's face between my hands tenderly.

"'_How is Royce?_'" I repeated, dumbstruck. "Are you single-minded enough to believe that I am a happily married woman? That I have little children running around my house and that my last name is _King_?" I let my voice echo around the vacant yard. Harvey was staring at me, his face covered in an expression of pure horror.

"I just… I apologize sincerely that things did not work out as planned with Royce," he muttered, "But I was merely- Miss Hale, you look simply lovely." I grimaced, digging my nails into his cheek with a decade's worth of hatred.

"Don't you _dare,_" I hissed, annunciating each syllable, "tell me how _lovely _I look. I've heard enough of that to last me a lifetime. And I certainly do not need it from such cowards like yourself." Harvey closed his eyes in agony as I released his face from my clutch. Tiny lavender bruises were blossoming rapidly. This satisfied me immensely.

Staggering backwards and clutching his face, Harvey let out a deep scream.

"They'll know," he blurted out. "The police- finger print analysis and- and investigations. I'm a very- a very prominent figure. They'll find you and- and you'll spend the rest of your life- life in prison." I grinned, flying behind him. Frantically, he spun around to face me, his eyes daring me to attack again. I did, diving on top of him and straddling him on the ground.

"'A prominent figure'," I scoffed, grabbing his throat. "So was I. My father was Vincent Hale, and he worked for the bank over in Rochester. I was engaged to Royce King. I was goddamn Rosalie Hale. That didn't stop you from ruining _me, _did it?" Harvey shook his head furiously.

"I was a kid!" he exclaimed, his voice echoing through the night.

"Wrong!" I shrieked. "You were a child in an adult's body! Immature, pathetic and sadistic. But you won't be trapped in that body anymore, _Doctor." _My tongue vibrated against the roof of my mouth so that I sounded like a snake going in for the kill. Harvey shuddered violently as I wrapped my hands tighter around his neck. With one smooth movement, I jerked his chin upwards and watched with pleasure as the life vanished from his eyes. _Sweet revenge. _


	5. The Guards

The bank had not changed since the last time that I had set foot in it. The bricks were still polished like new, yet they were dreary somehow. The pathway to the threshold seemed to go on for eternity, and the few windows that were there were much too small.

_"Mr. King, your woman is here to see you," the teller called across the room. I blushed, relishing the way that he said 'your woman'. Royce came striding out of his office, a smirk on his face as he kissed me lightly on the cheek. I beamed in return, holding up a tin can._

_"Your lunch, Darling," I cooed._

I glanced at my reflection in my pocket mirror before pushing open the heavy wrought-iron gate. The moon was barely visible through the thick layer of clouds, but the stars still twinkled and winked down at me as I walked efficiently up the cobblestone pathway. My hand looked eerie as I raised it to the heavy bronze knocker. It was not necessary of course, but the noise would startle him and add to the mounting terror.

_"Have you only brought a ham?" he muttered, grimacing slightly at the scent emanating from the box. My smile faltered, but did not vanish altogether._

_"Yes," I replied. "Your favorite, I thought." Royce shook his head, closing the tin box bitterly._

_"That's beside the point," he grunted. "Have you contacted the florist?" I nodded, glad to have changed the subject._

_"Orchids, my dear," I responded quietly. "Your favorite." _

As I had predicted, nobody answered. I could smell him already- the thick, nauseating aroma that was still tempting me slightly. It did not faze me that was not alone; Royce King was a man of numbers, always flanked by betas and subordinates. People lower on the pecking order, naturally.

With one smooth motion, I shoved the bank door open, smirking as the silver-engraved label on the mahogany door fell to the floor. _'Royce A. King II'. _His name cracked neatly in two, satisfying me.

_"Mr. Darcy, have you seen my Rose?" Royce barked to a mousy man across the room. The man turned and sized me up immediately, seemingly pleased. Internally, I grinned. I loved it when Royce showed me off to the world, letting everybody know that I was his._

_"Those pictures do not do her justice," Mr. Darcy decided, winking at me. I wound my arm tighter around Royce's elbow, staring up at my fiancée._

_"No picture does her justice," he muttered, kissing my cheek again. I giggled, smoothing out my crimson dress._

The bank was empty. It had closed two hours ago. Both of the night shift guards were downstairs in front of a vault. _Perfect_.

My wedding gown trailed behind me, the elaborate train extended for at least six feet. I had done my hair intricately, vigilantly placing pearls and a veil in my crown. In my freshly-manicured hands there was a bouquet of roses and orchids, and my distorted engagement ring was on my left ring finger.

When I had imagined walking down the aisle, I had imagined every eye on me. Royce was supposed to be waiting at the altar… waiting for me…

And now he was.

_The rehearsal had gone flawlessly, and it was Royce's turn to make a toast. I watched eagerly, placing my hand on his as he stood up._

_"A toast to my lovely fiancée," he announced, "And to my fine friends, Charlie, John, Caleb and Harvey, for traveling all the way to Rochester for this splendid occasion." I courteously inclined my head to each of the mentioned men, though I would realize later that they were not the praiseworthy men that they appeared to be. _

For the first time in several years, I took the stairs one by one. It was vital to take my time tonight; I deserved that much. _Yes, _this would be a night that I would never stop thinking about.

The two guards were in uniform, standing stiffly with rifles in their hands. Out of curiosity, I wondered what would happen if they shot me. It would most likely ricochet off of my skin, backfiring on one of them. This thought pleased me, but _I _wanted to be the one to deliver death. I wanted to be the one to make the life vanish out of their eyes… _Yes_. That was what I had come here to do.

I turned the corner dramatically, letting a single golden curl fall onto my cheek. Both of the men turned at once, holding up their weapons as if preparing for war. Every couple of steps, I let an orchid petal drop to the marble floor.

_"I'm going out for the night," Royce murmured, pulling on one of his less-valuable evening coats. "Do not mess up the house, Rosalie." I nodded obediently, knowing not to ask any questions. Luckily, my mother intervened._

_"Do not come home too late, Mr. King," she called merrily. "No daughter of mine is marrying a drunken groom!" Both of my parents laughed along with my fiancée, yet I did not see the humor in the situation. Royce was no a heavy drinker. Just a sip of champagne every now and then…_

"Stay back!" one of the guards warned, his threatening tone ruined by the tremors. "I'm warning you! Not one more step!" I cast him a dazzling grin, tossing my veil over my shoulder as I stood face-to-face with the burlier-looking man. For a moment, I simply stared him down. These men did not deserve to die a painful death; they did not warrant that much of my time. Yet they were still hindrances and…

I destroyed each of them with one loud _CRACK_, watching as both of their limp cadavers slumped to the floor. _Ah_. Human life was so fleeting that it was almost amusing.

"Good night, boys," I cooed, turning to the heavy vault door. This would be the interesting part…

_"Do not stay out late, Rose," my mother warned. "There will be no bags under your eyes when you walk down that aisle." I smiled at my mother, slightly agitated. She had been joking with Royce about maintaining his sobriety, but my appearance on my wedding day was not a laughing matter. _

With one smooth, wrenching movement, I knocked down the vault door. I recognized his sleek blonde hair instantly… his onyx eyes and his sallow face. Nothing pleased me more than the goosebumps on his arms; he knew death was coming.

_All the old knives that have rusted in my back, I now drive into yours. _

_Fables-Appendix (V1 II)_


	6. Royce King

Somewhere in the distance, Pachelbel's Canon played. I could not remember if I had set it up like that. It didn't matter. None of that mattered anymore. All that mattered was the pure, unadulterated fear in his eyes and the uncensored hatred in my own.

With movements that were most likely blurs of color to human eyes, I jumped over to the small window, clad with newly-installed iron bars, and perched myself onto the sill. Royce's eyes jerked around like a beetle's, trying to watch me the entire time. I managed to stifle a giggle, keeping up my gruesome fascia. Nothing could compare to the pleasure that I received as Royce recognized that he was alone; I had defeated his insubstantial guard in seconds. It was as if they had never existed. He should have known that it would come down to this. After all, I had sent him hints all week. There had been the rose petals sprinkled on his bureau, and the long crack down the center of his mirror. Yes, it had been obvious enough. It was destiny that it would come down to this. It had been destiny since that night that I had left Vera's home for the last time...

_Vera closed the door slightly, leaving a gap just big enough to fit her freckled face._

_"My husband can accompany you," she pointed out, furrowing her brow. "There's no need to walk alone." I smiled, shaking my head amiably._

_"Thank you for the offer," I replied, "but it's a lovely night. I think I will take the longer way, by the pub, to spare my father the worry." _

"Good evening, Mr. King," I cooed, mocking his lofty voice as I curtsied. "You don't look so well, I'm afraid. Are you always that pale, Mr. King? Do you always tremble like that? You're frightened, Royce, and you know it. And I would bet my fair tresses that you do not fancy it much, am I correct?" Feebly, Royce's right hand closed around a hatchet hidden underneath his left thigh. He clearly meant to do this surreptitiously, but I watched him through my peripheral vision as he moved it to his right side, so that it was between us. His eyes narrowed when he realized that I was watching him.

"You're a crazy woman," he hissed, venom in his voice. I laughed. Unfortunately for him, I had venom in places other than my _tone. _

"I'm a crazy woman?" I repeated, almost sounding pleasant. It was all a part of the arrangement; lure him into a false sense of security and then _snap_. True, I had probably shaken his nerves the minute that he caught a glimpse of my elaborate wedding gown, but I was counting on my looks to deceive him this time.

_"Oy, King," John exclaimed, wrapping his arm around my waist. I let out a shrill scream, muffled by Harvey's wool sleeve. "This one's a- a keeper, I- I think." I let my tears fall now, coating my face and freezing on my eyelashes. Through my peripheral vision, I recognized Royce taking a swig of whiskey._

_"Don't touch me!" I cried, trying in vain to push John's heavy arm off of my hip. He would not budge, so I simply collapsed into his arms, limp as a corpse. One of them men let out a gruff laugh, and I felt a pair of greasy hands on my now-bare shoulders._

"I've learned a lot these past few years, Mr. King," I cooed, leaping down into a crouch so that I was eye-to-eye with the man that I hated most. "Would you like to hear it?" I waited patiently for his response, but he came up empty-handed. I stood up and continued anyway, using my hands to tell the story.

"I'll spare you the gory details," I pointed out, "because I do not think that you are capable of truly comprehending them. So I'll be quick. Well, I'll _talk _quickly. But believe me, Royce, I do not _work _quickly." Royce's eyelids drooped over his dark, flat eyes. I snickered, swooping down to be at eye level with him.

"Have you heard the stories?" I demanded harshly, barking the words into his face. He grimaced as the gust of icy air that was my own breath hit him.

"Wha- They're all... They're all dead," he stuttered shortly, his eyes flickering open. "I saw this- I saw it coming. God knows what you think of me now, Rosalie Hale, but He knows that I am no- no fool. I would not be where I am today had I been ignorant. You've sent a hit man on all of them. Where is he now? Waiting outside? Yes, that's it. As soon as I start to overthrow you, he'll come barging- he'll come barging in." I let out a high laugh.

"I have not sent somebody to kill you!" I exclaimed, as if it was the stupidest idea that I had ever heard. Royce blinked in shock, gazing up at me warily.

"No- no hit man?" he repeated, sliding down the wall a bit. I pursed my lips and shook my head.

"No," I confirmed. "Just me." Royce froze, an amused grin crossing his face.

"Ah," he whispered, obviously sizing me up. I smirked, placing my hands on my hips. "_That's _how it's going to be. What is it, Rose? A gun? Do you have a gun in that pretty little dress of yours? I didn't hear any gun shots, and I'm assuming that you killed the guards. It's a shame. Such good employees." It was the word 'pretty' that sparked a flame in the pit of my stomach. _Pretty. _Who was he to call me or my dress _pretty?_

"Let's put it this way," I began, initiating the torture session. "This is my wedding dress. There is no gun. This bouquet- this is what I would have held as I walked down the aisle." With one swift strike, I shoved the orchids and roses into his face. The thorns sent deep gashes down his cheek, but they did not break the skin. Once Royce was finished shouting, I plunged my hand into the back of my veil and withdrew a single red rose. I was more careful this time, gently waving the flower under his nose.

"_This _rose is for the way that you called me beautiful," I whispered, pulling a petal off of the stem. "He loves me? He loves me _not." _The last quote may have been sugar-coating it, but I was getting carried away. And that suited me just fine.

"This one," I began, revealing another rose from the folds in my satin veil, "is for the night that you asked me to marry you. What were you thinking?" I shook my head, clucking my tongue as if reprimanding a schoolboy. I had saved a third rose, and this one I pulled out from my golden curls. My voice was silent as I spoke.

"And this rose," I murmured, "is for _me._ I know that you are under the impression that you are superior to everybody, but not this time. No- for once, it's going to be all about _me." _I placed my fingers delicately on the end of the stem and the tip of the longer petal. With one agile motion, I wrapped the stiff stem around his neck and tugged upwards, sending his chin backwards into the concrete wall.

He writhed in pain, but I seemed to have injured his trachea. Yes; he could not talk. _Damnit_.

"It's not over yet, Mr. King," I corrected him, holding my index finger up as if telling him off. "I brought you a little gift. You see, unlike you, I am a very... _sentimental _being. In fact, I happened to bring along a little something that is symbolic of our... _feelings _for each other. Do you understand?" Royce's eyes rolled back into his head, revealing small slits of glistening white.

"A ring, Royce!" I shrieked, shoving a diamond-encrusted ring in front of his eye. "It's beautiful, is it not?" Royce's right hand closed around my wrist, but I barely felt anything. Judging by the tendons protruding from his skin, I could tell that he was trying to hurt me. What a foolish man...

"I planned on making this longer, Royce King," I snapped shortly, "but, quite frankly, you are boring me and I have places to be. As long as you understand, I suppose, that you will die." I traced the contours of his jaw line with two of my fingers, smiling sweetly yet still taking care to show my teeth.

"Tell me that you'll die," I muttered menacingly. To my intense pleasure, he managed to muster up the ability to speak.

"I'm going to die," he repeated, his voice hoarse and shaking.

For one of the first times in his life, Royce King turned out to be correct.

"Good bye," I whispered, barely loud enough for anybody but myself to hear. As his dying body compulsed violently, I laid a torn red rose over his warped throat. In two swift strides, I swept from the room, my extensive veil catching onto his futile hatchet.

_Sweet revenge..._


End file.
